Hao carried the carton box of Wing Blast cans and began stocking them into the glass-door fridge.
Each blue-silver can caught the light, lining up neatly behind the cold glass.
He paused, arms crossed, admiring the rows for a few seconds.
"…Damn. Sexy."
But work was work. Hao turned and got back to restocking the rest of the shelves and fridges.
By the time he was done, the store looked clean, fresh, and fully loaded for war. He flipped the hanging plaque to "Open."
With quick turn, Hao marched straight toward whatever his taste buds demanded next.
Original Salted Potato Chips. A can of Lime Fizz. And for dessert, Soft Serve Chocolate Ice Cream.
A perfect, well-balanced breakfast.
Hao was living the dream. His inner child would be sobbing tears of joy right now, probably giving him a standing ovation with greasy fingers and a mouth full of chips.
He returned to the counter, chips in one hand, drink tucked under his arm, chocolate cone in the other.
